


half-baked

by temptation (jaegerjagues)



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, M/M, No Spoilers, Set during season 4, Soft Eddie Diaz, mentions of the pandemic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegerjagues/pseuds/temptation
Summary: Five times Eddie Diaz is an absolute disaster at baking, and the one time he isn't.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckely/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 134





	half-baked

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary: five times eddie diaz is an absolute disaster in the kitchen, and the one time he's even worse. 
> 
> 1.) all of these are things that can happen when baking, and they have!! happened to me!! 
> 
> 2.) i really like the idea that maddie taught buck how to bake when they were kids, sue me 
> 
> 3.) this is un-seen by the eyes of men, all mistakes are my own

1.

Chris wants cookies.

It isn’t a problem. At all. Except Eddie wants them to be special, as a treat, because his son has been down lately and he can’t exactly blame him; between the pandemic blowing up his social life and school going entirely online and Chris being an incredibly tactile person and having that taken away from him because of said pandemic, his kid’s been pretty down lately.

Which is how Eddie finds himself in his kitchen on his day off, counter space covered in baking supplies and a cookbook that came from god knows where open to a recipe for chocolate chip cookies, which seems simple enough. Chris is at the table in the dining room doing online school, as Eddie has somehow found himself being not only firefighter and single parent but also a pseudo-teacher in this past year. Who knew Chris’s level of math was so difficult!

He’s never baked before in his life, but following the directions isn’t hard. Sure, he forgot to take the butter out beforehand and has to nuke it slightly to soften it up and ends up melting it in the process (it’s still good to use, right?), and measuring the flour is a hell and a half, and mixing it all together by hand is only a slight improvement over running into a burning building, but he’s feeling pretty proud of himself by the time he’s got the dough scooped out onto the cookie sheets.

He’s feeling less proud of himself by the time he pulls the first batch out of the oven.

They’re thin, like little pieces of paper with chocolate chips baked into them. Eddie frowns at the hot tray in his hands, setting down on the range top. He knows cookies are supposed to spread out when they bake, but he’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to be _flat_ like little frisbees.

The next batch that comes out doesn’t fare any better, and by then Chris has wandered into the kitchen to see exactly what he’s up to. His eyes go round when he sees the cookies on the cooling rack.

“You made cookies!” Eddie’s heart leaps at the excitement in his son’s voice, and he knows that no matter how bad they might look and how full his kitchen sink might be, he made the right decision.

“You can have one before dinner,” he says, handing a still warm cookie off to his son before picking one up for himself. They bite into their cookies together, smiles on their faces, and you know what?

Eddie thinks he did an okay job, even if they look like garbage.

* * *

2.

He’s not a quitter.

So he tries blueberry muffins next, because they’ve got to be easier than the cookies. There’s less ingredients; simpler instructions. He follows the directions to a tee, reading them twice before following through. He has to get this perfect this time, his pride depends on it. So he beats the eggs, adds the wet ingredients; folds in the dry ones and mixes it all together and he’s positive he’s done a damn good job by the time the batter is in the little muffin cups.

Or so he thought, until he ends up with two muffin tins full of muffin shaped tiny boulders that he dumps straight from the pan and into the garbage can.

“The instructions make it seem so easy and then, boom, my muffins are like rocks,” he complains as he changes into his uniform the next day.

“Oh, that’s because you’re over mixing them,” Buck says, like it’s obvious.

Eddie stares at his partner like he’s grown a second head. “What?”

The blond shrugs, closing his locker. “Maddie taught me how to bake when we were kids. Rule number one was you don’t overmix the muffin batter.” He pauses a moment. “Or maybe that was rule number two? Anyway, over mixing muffin batter will make your muffins hard.”

“Wait a second, hold on. You know how to bake?”

Buck frowns. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“You can bake, but you’re always bringing store-bought cookies to my house?”

The younger man opens his mouth to defend himself just as the alarm rings, sending them running from the locker room.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” Eddie promises darkly as he follows Buck out the door.

* * *

3.

“It’s like chemistry,” Buck explains, pulling the flour and sugar out of the pantry. “Delicious chemistry.”

“I never took chemistry.”

“That might explain some things.” They’re trying the muffin recipe again, at Buck’s request. It’s the first time in nearly a month that their days off line up, and Buck had shown up on his doorstep earlier in the afternoon raring to get to work in the kitchen.

“And how exactly did _you_ do in chemistry?” Eddie leans his hip against the counter as Buck gathers all the ingredients they’ll need, seemingly more at home in Eddie’s kitchen than Eddie himself.

Buck looks sheepish for a moment. “I passed, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says shiftily, refusing to meet Eddie’s gaze. There’s a story there, somewhere, he’s sure, but he lets the discussion drop as Buck takes a step back from the counter, supplies assembled. “Now, all you have to do is follow the directions and remember, don’t overmix them this time.”

Eddie steps up into the space the taller man just vacated, shaking his head. “I can follow directions, unlike some people I know,” he snipes, setting to his task.

“Hey!” Buck is indignant. “I follow directions!”

“There are toddlers that follow directions better than you do.”

His friend gasps in mock pain.

Eddie grabs a fistful of flour and tosses it in the taller man’s face, just for good measure; Buck gasps for real this time, but he doesn’t retaliate, too busy brushing at his face in an effort to rid himself of the white powder he’s suddenly found himself covered in. The distraction has bought Eddie just enough time to finish mixing the muffin batter together.

“This good?” he asks, tilting the bowl at an angle once Buck can see again. The batter is still lumpy, which looks wrong to Eddie; he wants to keep mixing until it’s smooth.

“That’s perfect.”

From there, Eddie diligently pours the batter into the muffin liners in the muffin tin, steady handed as he does his level best not to over fill them. He pops them in the oven and sets the timer, and then looks dejectedly at the mess he’s created. There’s dishes on the counter and flour all over the floor from his sneak attack on Buck. Baking; why does it have to be so _messy_?

Buck elbows him in his side as if he knows what he’s thinking. “I’ll do the dishes if you get the broom?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then goes to get the broom. By the time he’s returned, Buck already has the kitchen sink filled with steaming, soapy water, dishes piled precariously on the counter next to him. They clean in companionable mostly-silence, Buck singing quietly under his breath as he scrubs away at the dishes Eddie dirtied.

Once he’s done and the broom is put away, Eddie puts away all the ingredients and wipes down the counter. By the time he’s done with that, Buck’s done with the dishes and there’s only a minute or two left on the timer for the muffins.

There’s flour brushed across the bridge of Buck’s nose, a dab of it on his chin, a streak of it high on his forehead and into his hair. The afternoon sunlight slanting through the kitchen window highlights his cheekbones.

Eddie’s heart squeezes for some unnameable reason in his chest, and he ignores it just as the oven timer goes off.

“Let’s see what these look like!” Buck crows, flinging open the oven door.

They’re flat, taking up less than half the space in the multi-colored muffin liners.

“I don’t understand.” Eddie stares at the pan in disbelief. “What happened?”

Buck tilts his head to the side, not unlike an overgrown dog trying to figure out where his toy has gone. He scoops the recipe off of the counter, eyes roving over it quickly. “You put everything into it, right?”

“Yeah, of course, I—”

The blond opens up the cupboard and takes out the baking powder, frowning at it. He tilts it toward Eddie, who also frowns when he sees that the box is still sealed.

“The baking powder,” Buck says, shaking the unopened box. “You forgot to put in the baking powder. That’s why they’re like little hockey pucks.”

Eddie stares forlornly at his second attempt at muffins, then at the box in Buck’s hand.

To think, victory had been so close.

* * *

4.

Buck swears up and down that cornbread is easy. That there is absolutely no way Eddie can mess this up, so long as he remembers to put in all the ingredients this time.

The blond watches over his shoulder the entire time, standing close enough to the point of distraction. Eddie can practically feel his breath on the side of his neck, but he doesn’t say anything; he’s busy trying to focus on the cornbread batter, the way it’s coming together in the bowl, double checking that he’s adding every ingredient so he doesn’t have a repeat of the last time they tried to bake something.

But Buck smells good. He hasn’t noticed it before, but with his best friend this close, it’s hard not to. It’s distracting to the point that Eddie has to white knuckle his way through mixing the cornbread together, wondering if the other man recently changed his body wash or cologne. Not that he’s going to ask, because there’s no way to just casually slip that into a conversation.

He gets a reprieve when he slips the muffin tins he’s poured the cornbread batter into into the oven, and from there the only thing left to do is wait.

And the dishes. There’s always the dishes. But Buck seems more than happy enough to do them, gathering them up from the counter and running the water into the sink to make it hot.

“You do know I have a dishwasher, right?” Eddie asks as he watches the muscles in Buck’s forearms flex as he scrubs at a particularly nasty spot in the mixing bowl. He’s very thirsty, all of a sudden, and he can’t name why. “You don’t have to keep doing the dishes by hand when there is a machine right there.”

Buck shrugs. “I just like doing the dishes, I guess.”

Eddie doesn’t question it; he hates doing the dishes. Who is he to stop Buck from doing what he likes to do?

The kitchen is spotless again by the time the cornbread is ready to come out of the oven, and Eddie’s expectations are hovering somewhere between ‘low’ and ‘middling’.

It’s a good thing, he thinks, that he didn’t get his hopes up.

The cornbread turns out a bit like the muffins: tiny little hockey pucks, but at least this time they’re squishy, edible things. Buck frowns at them as they sit on the counter cooling in their little paper cups, trying to figure out just where Eddie went wrong this time.

“Sometimes,” his friend says as he goes through Eddie’s cupboards, “these things just happen.”

“To me? Four times in a row?” Eddie half-snorts. “I don’t think so.”

“You might not have done anything wrong this time! It might just be your oven!”

“My oven cooks everything else just fine!”

Buck opens his mouth to say something about his cooking, Eddie just _knows_ it, but instead his attention is diverted by something else in his hand. He frowns at it and says, “Uh? This baking soda is expired.”

“That can expire?”

An exasperated noise escapes Buck’s chest, but it’s fond. “It loses potency, yeah. And by losing potency, it can’t do its job right. And if it can’t do its job right, then it won’t help the cornbread rise. Which is why the cornbread looks a little like the muffins did. See, baking soda is a leavening agent, and combined with an acid like the buttermilk in the recipe, it creates carbon dioxide bubbles, which would have made the cornbread rise. But in this case, since the baking soda was bad, that happened on a much smaller scale, which means we ended up with . . . _these_.”

Eddie wasn’t aware a patented Buck Info Dump could make him feel bad about the expired contents of his cupboard, but here they are.

As if he didn’t feel bad about his edible but hideous cornbread.

* * *

5.

The cake is meant to be their crowning achievement. Eddie’s chance to grab glory in the kitchen, to finally get something right and make something Chris can actually eat and enjoy that doesn’t come out of a box and isn’t the ugliest thing Eddie has ever seen in his life. Buck suggests they make frosting from scratch as well, just to prove that they can, but Eddie adds two cans of chocolate frosting to the InstaCart order just in case.

Everything goes well: Eddie measures and stirs and mixes, leaving the dishes to Buck, who just seems happy to be there, elbow deep in warm water and suds. The batter makes it into two different cake pans and into the oven without a hitch; Eddie sets the timer, then turns to his friend, who is busy drying his hands on the dish towel.

“I think I’m going to take a nap,” the blond announces with a wide yawn. “You got the cake?”

Eddie waves him off. It warms him, knowing Buck is comfortable enough in his house to just decide that he’s going to nap. “I got the cake.”

He’s rewarded with a smile before he’s left alone in the kitchen entirely.

It’s an eternity of the house growing increasingly good-smelling before the timer dings, and he scrambles to turn it off before the shrill noise wakes up Buck. He yanks the cakes out of the oven and sets them out on the racks to cool, then pokes his head into the living room to make sure his friend is still napping.

Buck lies on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes, long legs sticking off the other end. He’s snoring lightly, and it’s more than enough to let Eddie know that the timer didn’t disturb him one bit. It’s a sight he could get used to; the realization is a quiet one, sneaking up on him. The next one is a little louder, a little fiercer, as he realizes, _I’m in love with him._

Eddie returns to the kitchen and puts away the dishes quietly and methodically as he waits for the cakes to cool. Once he’s done, he turns and checks the cakes. They feel cool enough, unlike him, who’s heart is racing in his chest. It’s one thing, to realize you’re in love with your best friend. It’s another to go on with your day like it’s no big deal.

He flips the first pan upside down.

The cake goes everywhere, an ooey-gooey molten mess that’s only baked on the edges. Half of it’s on the counter, the other half on the floor, some of it on his shoe.

“Shit,” he curses, tossing the now empty pan into the sink. It lands with a clatter and a splash in the dishwater, sending suds everywhere.

Buck wanders bleary eyed and sleep rumpled into the kitchen a few moments later, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. He’s a beautiful sight, and Eddie’s heart skips in his chest. He takes in the sight of Eddie cleaning up the cake mess and says, “Uh oh. Cake wasn’t done.”

“But I took it out when the timer went off!”

Buck rocks back on his heels with a wince. “I, uh, forgot to mention that cakes aren’t always ready when the timer goes off?” He claps his hands together. “Gotta check ‘em in the center before you take them out. Like the muffins, and the cornbread. The good news is, the other cake is still in the pan. We can stick it back in the oven and finish it off. This is salvageable!”

So it is; they have the cake fully baked and cooled and frosted by the time Chris is done with his schooling for the day, but the victory feels hollow to Eddie.

* * *

+1.

He decides to try the chocolate chip cookies again. To take everything he’s learned from Buck and apply it without the distraction of the younger man’s presence.

He takes out every ingredient and sets it out on the counter first, double checking it against the recipe twice. He doesn't want a repeat of the muffin incident, even though he’s certain it was Buck’s fault. Then he pre-measures the ingredients before mixing everything together according to the directions.

The first batch of cookies are in the oven before he knows it, and he’s putting more raw dough out on the next pan when the front door opens. He knows it’s Buck instinctively, because the only other people with keys have been keeping their distance these days thanks to the pandemic.

He only half hears the excitable conversation Chris has with Buck in the other room; Chris, who is still busy with school work for another hour at least. Just long enough to get a couple more batches of cookies in and out of the oven, long enough for some of them to cool enough for Chris to eat, provided they turn out _edible_.

“Something smells good.” Buck looks tired, fresh from his shift, and he leans against the door jamb of the kitchen for support, arms folded across his chest.

“I tried chocolate chip cookies again,” Eddie says as he takes the first batch out of the oven. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that these cookies look . . . well, _normal_. They’re not flat, or pale, or burnt, or anything. They look like regular cookies. He sets the whole tray down on the cooling rack and pops the next pan in the oven to bake, setting the timer. “And they turned out okay?”

“Eddie, they’re beautiful.” They’re slightly misshapen; two of them have morphed together, but they’re all plump and cookie shaped. Nothing like his first attempt. “They are the most gorgeous cookies I have ever seen in my life.”

“You’re just saying that because you want one.”

“I might be just saying that because I want, like, twelve, yes.”

Wielding the spatula, Eddie gently pries the first one loose from the tray, careful not to break it. They’re not quite ready to come off of it yet, but with Buck looking at him with those big blue eyes, who is he to say no?

He holds the spatula with the cookie out toward Buck and the blond crosses the kitchen immediately, swiping the piping hot cookie off the utensil and straight into his mouth.  
Buck moans around his fingers, and it might be the most sinful noise Eddie’s ever heard. When he opens his mouth again, he says, “Will you marry me? These are delicious.”

Eddie breaks the cookie he’s trying to remove from the pan in half, sending it flying across the kitchen. Buck somehow manages to snatch it out of the air before it hits anything, juggling it for a moment before popping it in his mouth.

“Are you serious?” Eddie finally croaks, once his brain can process things again.

“Well, yeah.” Buck wipes his fingers off on his pants before going in for another cookie. Eddie instinctively smacks the back of his hand with the spatula, the way Abuela does with her spoon every time he tries to sneak a bite of something before it’s done, making the other man yelp and pull back.

“I think we missed a step somewhere, Buck.”

The blond has enough sense to look confused for a moment. “What are you talking about? These are delicious, and I’ve had Maddie’s chocolate peanut butter fat bombs. Those are to die for. I would have dinner with my parents for these.”

It only occurs to Eddie then that they’re having two different conversations.

Buck seems to realize it at the same moment, brow furrowing. “Wait. Did you think—“

Eddie can’t fight the blush that comes to his face, that burns at his ears and bites at the back of his neck. His teeth find their way to his bottom lip as he looks away from Buck. He should have known he was joking the minute the words left his mouth, that it wasn’t a serious proposition. Wishful thinking on his part entirely. That Buck would never love him in the way Eddie loves him. As more than just a friend.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I didn’t think— I didn’t think you felt that way about anyone, much less. Well. Me.”

“Why wouldn’t I, Buck? Have you _met_ you?”

Buck shakes his head. Clears his throat. “Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate any further, but Eddie can practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts running through his head.

“You are one of the most amazing people I have ever met in my life,” he says, moving the still warm cookies from the cookie sheet onto the cooling rack. Some of them break into two from the force he’s using, but it’s no matter. “How could anyone not love you?”

The timer on the oven goes off, and Eddie turns to tend to his second batch of cookies. They’re even more perfect than the first batch, none of them having baked together, all of them a delectable golden-brown.

They’re quiet as Eddie sets the tray down on a pot holder; quiet as he pops the third and final batch of cookies into the oven and sends up a prayer that they turn out just as well as the first two.

When he’s done, Eddie looks at Buck and opens his mouth to say something, only the other man beats him to the punch.

“Eddie Diaz, will you marry me?” Buck asks again, staring directly into Eddie’s eyes, this time not around a mouthful of food.

“Are you serious?” Eddie repeats.

There’s no hint of hesitation when he says, “I’m serious if you’re serious.”

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s about to die, and Buck’s going to kill him. The official cause of death might be listed as cardiac arrest, but the unofficial cause? Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley.

“So we’re just going to skip the whole dating thing?”

“Oh, we can get dinner, if you want. But we have been raising your son together. We kind of jumped straight off the deep end into that, right into the whole domesticity thing; I can’t believe you never noticed? We’ve been mistaken for a family several times.”

 _Mistaken_. The word barbs right at Eddie’s heart. “That’s not a mistake, Buck. We are a family. You, and me, and Chris; the rest of the 118. We’re always going to be there for you. You just happen to want to get the government involved.”

Buck laughs, the noise filling the kitchen. His eyes are bright, and he sniffs, and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s trying not to cry. “Not immediately, but eventually. Yeah. Let’s get the government involved.” Buck swipes another cookie from the cooling rack, and Eddie makes no move to stop him this time. All he can do is shake his head as his— boyfriend? Fiancé? Everything has happened so much, so fast in the past few minutes that his mind can’t keep track— shoves the cookie in his mouth and makes that god awful noise again that makes Eddie want to jump him right in the middle of the kitchen.

“It’s about time,” Christopher announces from the entrance to the kitchen, looking pleased. Eddie and Buck look to each other and then to their son.

“For edible cookies?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Chris says, exasperated. “For you and Buck. You’re gonna get _married_.”

And, goddamn, Eddie loves his son. “Were you _eavesdropping_ when you should have been doing your school work?”

“School’s been over; Buck, can we get a puppy?”

“Uh.” Buck looks to Eddie with a nervous smile. “Help?”

Eddie throws up his hands as the oven timer goes off for the last time. “Figure it out, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> buck's high school chem experience is my high school chem experience i don't make the rules i'm just here to start fires in sinks with the progress reports the teacher handed out
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/munchlaxe) and [tumblr](https://buxly.tumblr.com/)


End file.
